


Roses, Honey, and Champagne

by overused_underrated



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Archangels, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overused_underrated/pseuds/overused_underrated
Summary: NaNoWriMo - Day 7 (one week down!)Gabriel wants what's best for Aziraphale- for him to move on. Aziraphale, on the other hand, wants to take Gabriel's suggestion and throw it in the trash (him too). It's not just a shirt, he's holding on to. It's the memories...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Raphael (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Raphael (Good Omens)
Kudos: 66





	Roses, Honey, and Champagne

“Aziraphale...it’s just a shirt. You need to let it go,” Gabriel condemned. “You need to let _him_ go…” The young Principality dared not look up at his superior. He held onto the tattered and faded fabric, hands and heart aching. The archangel shook his head, disappointed. He squatted beside the angel, who was trembling before him and whispered, “He’s gone.” Aziraphale kept his head down, eyes clenched tight- too pained to see the truth. Gabriel let out a small sigh and left him- alone, huddled in the corner of his bookshop.

The young angel cried to himself, to Her, to the universe. He cried for a man who no longer existed. A man who was dead to the world; dead to Heaven. _ It’s not just a shirt, Gabriel. _ The evening had been quiet and calm, unlike the heart of the Principality. It had been almost six thousand years, since… The angel was alone. He lived alone; he worked alone; he loved _ alone _ . On good days, he’d take a walk to St. James’s Park in the late evening to watch the stars dance in the sky. They’d shine and glisten, and remind the angel of _ him. _It wasn’t long before tears found refuge in his eyes; Aziraphale would sit and cry in the darkness, until the sun bled into the sky. He was truly alone. He didn’t have friends, all his family remained up in Heaven. There was no one on his side anymore. 

In his shop, between the soothsayer scrolls and the forgotten prophecies, was a box. It was made from an old, long-since rotted apple tree. The box was nothing intricate or ornate, but it was well loved and coveted by the angel. It preciously held an ancient and torn tunic from long ago. The cloth was older than Eden; its owner had only gotten to see the garden a handful of times before his demise. 

Before he was assigned to guard the gate, Aziraphale was designing fruit and berries for the garden and its guests. The angel adored the work; he labored over each and every creation, wanting to ensure its perfection and divinity. At night, as he rested from his task, he’d watch the stars being brought to life. Raphael was truly an artisan (though that word didn’t exist yet). His work surpassed that of any other angel. He worked ceaselessly until he was satisfied with his final product. Aziraphale would watch from afar, the master slaving away on his creations. Some nights, as the morning was creeping over the hills, Raphael would steal away and join Aziraphale at the edge of the garden. Together, they’d watch his work disappear into the dawn. Those were some of Aziraphale’s favorite moments- in all his life. Sure, there were parties, days spent in the library, watching craftsmen hone their skills, traveling the seas to distant lands. Those were all fine and lovely, but nothing could compare to the warm and loving feeling of being with Raphael. 

After the fall, Gabriel recommended Aziraphale take a position on Earth. A way to cleanse his mind and begin again. The Principality did as ordered, but he didn’t care. He was hollow; numb to everything. In truth, the angel didn’t truly remember what happened for the first thousand years or so. All he could focus on was the unwavering pain in his chest. The only thing that remained of his angel was the scrap of his shirt and his masterpieces in the sky. 

_ You need to let him go... _

Gabriel’s words echoed in his ears. No. Aziraphale swore he’d never let Raphael go. Raphael had died trying to protect him, and Aziraphale would rather be damned than forget his friend. His love. Aziraphale held tightly onto the cloth, as if he was holding his angel once more. The tears came once again, as he breathed in the scent that remained. Over the years, the smell had faded, but it was undeniable: roses, honey, and champagne. Things Raphael never got to experience, but no less smelled like. Perhaps, Aziraphale thought, his death was the inspiration behind the sweet things. Tributes to his dedicated work. 

Aziraphale smiled faintly through the tears. He carefully returned the fabric back to its place and let out a deep, painful sigh. _ No_, he thought. _ It’s not just a shirt, Gabriel. It’s him. It’s the last piece I have of him. I won’t let him go. I refuse. I won’t forget my love- my Raphael. _

**Author's Note:**

> In this piece, Raphael is Crowley before the fall. Unlike the rest of the angels, Raphael dies trying to protect Aziraphale from those who had already fallen. Aziraphale has spent his six thousand years on earth alone, without a demon to fraternize with :(


End file.
